ows itJust the way it happened.Well, not exactly...only partially'.More like infinitesimally, or not at all--For the substance of that experienceStayed buried deep inside,Beyond the scope of DNAIn a glob of electricity,That irretrievably drainedAs his body died. But I live yet, in agony,Awaiting my fate,Making love to my pain.What else can I do?All words are untrue.This paper is just anotherSelf-created mirrorWhich will not polish clean,Its myriad distortionsA Turin-Shroud charade.And yet it is said,Patience is a virtue.But I know instead,Patience is a vultureMade up of timePicking at my spine.Pick, tick...Pick, tick...Pick, tick...Die.I Saw DeathI saw death in the mirror.I saw death at the center.I saw the white below my iris.I saw time slowing quickly.I saw my chances drop to nothing. It came raining from the bruised skies;Traveling the city streets on wheels, in packs;Marching in step in smart uniforms;Skulking in alleys and alcoves;In opulence and wretchedness;In innocent savance and calculated ignorance;Nowhere at allAnd everywhere at once,Wrapping all life in its eternal curse....
